I lived in Oakland when Bakesale Betty first opened its doors in 2005, and before it became a joint with slavishly devoted fans (I'm one), I had fallen head-over-heels for the place.

Though I haven't been since moving away from the Bay Area some years ago, and though the Temescal neighborhood has probably changed dramatically since I lived nearby in Adam's Point, BB's remains among the only dining establishments, the world over, whose food I really crave and miss, on a regular basis. I may, or may not have had day dreams about it...

Their fried chicken sandwich is, simply put, the most sublimely perfect sandwich ever assembled on the face of our one and only planet Earth. It has been rumored that Gaea, Dionysus, and Hermes strode down together from Mt Olympus, and whispered unto Betty the secrets of Ambrosia. It is even said that the gods will, on occasion, take the form of Oaklanders, and visit Bakesale Betty. During such visits, it is thought that they have been heard to remark that nothing in the halls and larders of their airy celestial dwellings, rivals Betty's offerings.

Anyone who says otherwise does not understand sandwich construction or a balanced flavor profile, nor do they appreciate a perfect role of bread, nor love succulently juicy chicken breast fried in an unfathomably crispy buttermilk crust, nor do they grasp why tangy coleslaw is the superlative compliment to paradisaical fried chicken. Such a person would also fail to appreciate that the most delightful compliment to a matchless fried chicken sandwich, is unquestionably an mouth-watering strawberry shortcake with freshly whipped cream. Impossible as it is to imagine, such a person would clearly fail to grasp that the perfect meal might only be improved upon by the lemon slushes Bakesale Betty used to serve (I'm not sure if they still do).

It was often my custom to visit Betty's on Saturday mornings, just before opening, and to frame my day around the blissful state of mind that would follow upon the most perfect meal that exists. Obviously, someone who can't appreciate a glorious hike up Mt Diablo, or a spectacular day tasting wine in Sonoma, or a blissful day kayaking on Lake Merritt, or surfing at Cowell's beach in Santa Cruz, would be incapable of appreciating that all of those activities were immeasurably improved by having first visited Bakesale Betty, but then, such people are probably beyond all hope...